Steelclad Enigma
by CidOtaku
Summary: yaoi--kevin mask-jeager please read the author's note thingy


Steel-clad Enigma  
  
By CidOtaku Ultimate Muscle (which I don't own) This is my last yaoi fanfiction, unless I get some requests or for a special occasion. This is because I want to try other genres and maybe a few other romance fics that don't include yaoi. This is my Jeager (Jade)/Kevin Mask fic, to thank Ms. Kinnikuman for reviewing and for asking if I was going to make one of them. So, what the heck. I'll try it. Remember kiddies, I don't own anything. And if any of you have any suggestions for a couple or a story idea, go ahead and tell me. I'll shut up now. On with the story.  
  
As his trench coat billowed out behind him, I watched as Kevin Mask ran out of the stadium, just recently getting disqualified from his tag-team match with Kid Muscle. They were in a match against the last of the Poisoned Six- Pack, Baron Maximillion and Jag-Edge. Kevin Mask had been disqualified for being out of the ring one second too late.  
  
"It was just one lousy second! Can't the referee just let it slide?" Trixie, a friend of Roxanne cried, as murmurs of agreement were heard throughout the crowd.  
  
But rules were rules, as unfair as it seemed to me. Of course, lately, being out of Germany, quite a few things were different here. I furrowed my brows in disappointment, and wondered where Kevin Mask was, and what he was thinking. He seemed as if he didn't care, but who could tell by looking him? All anyone could see was that trademark blue mask, cold and glinting in the light of the stadium's fluorescent lighting.  
  
I looked up at Roxanne as she looked on, unable to do anything in her glass prison hanging dangerously above the earth. I couldn't help but wonder if Kevin Mask worried about what would happen to Roxanne. He didn't seem to care about much.  
  
Of course he was bitter. He had a reason to be. All of Kevin Mask's childhood had been filled with training. All Robin Mask seemed to care about was making Kevin the perfect wrestler. To keep the Mask name remembered, up there with the Kinnikuman family. Though my childhood was not much different, I was surrounded by caring townspeople and by Brocken Jr., my mentor, my father figure. I grew up strong and was proud when I was awarded the privilege of the title Muscle League Chojin. Kevin Mask never joined the Muscle League and instead wondered around. An outsider.  
  
He had to be lonely. Right? Didn't he want friends? I was a now good friend with the Second Generation Muscle Leaguers, especially Terry, ever since the tag-team match we fought together. And I was glad to be around such honorable young wrestlers, even though they joked around a lot. I was also a good friend with Hydrozoa. I had cheered for him, in hopes he would win against Kid Muscle in the match against the Second Generations. Even though he didn't win, he had said that my voice was the thing that kept him going in the match. I learned then that friendship is one of the most important inspirations for a match.  
  
So whom did Kevin think of? What made him go on, when he was beaten and torn, tired, and on the ground? He said it was his honor, and honor is a strong thing, but was it strong enough? Who's voice swam through his mind, whose voice urged him to go on? Kevin Mask was certainly an enigma.  
  
A strong enigma though. Nobody could say otherwise. He had his strength, but he also had an amazing defense. He had, of course, the blue helmet. And the steel twined around his legs. He also had steel shoulder pads, with a spike on the top of each one. The shoulder pads connected with a chest guard that thinned down to protect his firm abs. Though he still had some flesh unprotected, his armor was intimidating enough to make a normal man think twice about messing with him. He looked like a knight in shining armor to me.  
  
He was also handsome. Though I had seen some girls flirt with him, he of course never seemed interested. The helmet seemed to give him a mysterious look, and the glinting yellow eyes, though effectively creepy, attracted the girls as well. Hell, it attracted me too. Though I could never admit it to anyone, much less him.  
  
I often wondered what was under that mask of his. Sometimes, I would create different faces for him. Some with gold eyes, some with blue, some with different shades of blue hair, sometimes blonde, like mine. Of course in real life, he would always be an enigma. My steel-clad enigma. Or at least in my thoughts and dreams. Suddenly I heard Terry's voice.  
  
"Traurig, could you repeat that Herr Terry?" I questioned, snapping out of my thoughts.  
  
"Ya know, you don't hafta called me "her" or whatever." Terry exasperatedly sighed. "Anyways, I asked you, 'How easy do ya think that Maximillion fella is gonna be for Kid?' "  
  
"Hmmm...Nicht sicher." I replied, still distracted, thinking about Kevin a little.  
  
"What now?" Terry asked, scratching his head confusedly.  
  
"Oh, sorry. I said I'm not sure. He seems pretty smart, and he's fast." I replied, pushing my thoughts of Kevin temporarily into the corner of my mind.  
  
"Yeah, well, I think the Kid can handle himself, I mean lookit the guy. He's skinnier than a broomstick." Terry grinned as he returned to watching Kid in the ring.  
  
I glanced around, and I thought I saw Kevin in the audience, looking at me. I did a doubletake, and he was gone, if he was even standing there in the first place, not just a glint of some metal object, or another man in a trench coat. Maybe just a fan of Kevin. I decided to turn back to the match, so as not to let any of my friends notice my lack of attention. Not to let them guess that I was thinking of my knight in shining armor.  
  
"Hmm...My stahl-plattiertes rätsel..." I said trying out the sound of it aloud.  
  
"What now?" Terry asked.  
  
"Nothing." I replied.  
  
Terry glanced at me a few minutes longer, and then started in on a conversation about Kid Muscle, and how long it would take him to beat Maximillion.  
  
I glanced once again at the crowd, and satisfied that there was no man in a blue mask with piercing yellow eyes, I settled back in my chair as I watched Kid look up at Roxanne and smile confidently, apparently setting her at ease, as she smiled back at him. Since it seemed that the paramedics were still having trouble lodging Jag-Edge's body out of the canvas, I relaxed and let my thoughts drift around, to the upcoming match, to Germany, to Herr Brocken, to my steel-clad enigma. My stahl-plattiertes rätsel. 


End file.
